Driving into Moab on Friday morning, I didn't see a cloud in the sky. This was contrary to the NOAA weather forecast that predicted a 50-60% chance of precipitation on Friday and Saturday. Rather, the skies were blue and the sun had warmed the air to a mild 42°F. The weekend was off to a good start, but NOAA got the last word.
Early Saturday morning I awoke to the sound of rain drops pelting the roof of my car and the annoying sound of the alarm from my watch as I laid in my sleeping bag mentally preparing for the 4 hours of sloppiness that was to ensue. I was too cozy to move or even think about getting my shorts on and stepping out into the cold rain. After briefly entertaining the prospect that the race directors might even halt the race, I hit the alarm button on my watch and went back to sleep for another thirty minutes. I eventually gained enough motivation to scrounge through the mess of camping gear in my car to source a banana and commence the day.
At the starting line, a light drizzle persisted, which would remain through the better part of the race. The gun went off and so did I and about 130 others. Heading into Pritchett Canyon, I broke off with the front pack and we sloshed through the red mud and rain run-off covering the slick rock shelves and drainages in this narrow, shallow canyon. I haven't seen Moab wet, but it was amazing so far. All of the lava-esque smoothly tiered rock created several series of water falls all over the place. Within the first two miles I realized I was in the top 10 and we had distanced ourselves nicely from the heard. This would be the crew to which I belonged for the entirety of the race.
I made quick work of Pritchett, but realized I was moving a bit faster than I should have so early in the race. After cresting the first little climb, I backed off the gas a tad and cruised into Hunter Canyon Rim Trail. After a couple miles of rolling Jeep trail, myself and the rest of the front pack had dispersed a bit, allowing about 15 to 20 seconds between each runner. The trail eventually narrowed into singletrack along the rim of the mesa. The rain from the last several hours had made the slick rock live up to its name. We all condensed into a tight string of people edging our way down the side of a precarious cliff that descended into a crevasse. This was the first of a few sketchy spots where if one were to slip, a 20 or 30 foot fall would be realized. I knew I needed to keep vigilant of my footing throughout the rest of the race.
We all spilled into Kane Springs Canyon. I passed up the aid station there as I had plenty of gas in the tank and hadn't even sipped from my bottle yet (a nice bi-product of colder temps). This section was a flat dirt road (Kane Creek Road) that hugged the bottom of a huge rock-walled canyon. The rain had increased a bit. I was in a perfect cruise mode - maybe 7:30-7:50's. This was a great opportunity to toss a few cordial words back and forth with some of my competition.
About 5 minutes later, we tucked into Hunters Canyon, which was entirely rolling singletrack and a couple water crossings. This was an out-and-back section with a punch flag at the turn-around, though the creek had risen too high to cross, so we were instructed to turn at the creek and head back to the road. The other two water crossings felt great as the cold water cooled my legs down a bit and put a huge smile on my face jumping through the knee-deep creeks. We hopped back on the road and over to a mud-laden grassy meadow that made keeping a straight track nearly impossible. I biffed a couple times in the mud, but the hilarity wore off as it grew annoying trying to keep a true direction. Though, I'm sure my competition had a fun time watching from arrear.
After the slop affair, we entered the Scorched Earth Wall trail at mile 15. This was the biggest climb of the race. Rising 1,200' in just over a mile, this trail hugs the profile of a huge mesa, continuing all the way to the top. Shortly before entering the climb, another racer informed me that it's pretty pitchy, but if I kept a mellow pace, I'd have no problem. I hunkered down into a slower pace (about 12-13's) and focused on the few feet of trail directly in front of me. The frustrating thing about this trail was it wrapped around the mesa (out of vision), giving the illusion of multiple false summits. Additionally, the pitch got much, much steeper toward the top. Nonetheless, I managed my way up, occasionally resorting to power hiking a few of the steeper parts. Once on the summit, the views of Moab were amazing. I wish I had more time to actually glance away from the trail for a few more seconds, but I'd have to save it for another day.
Descending the mesa, I entered the Amasa Back trail and focused on quickly recovering from the gnarly climb up Scorched Earth. I sucked down a GU and proceeded. I couldn't see the competition behind me nor the four that were ahead of me, which was nice because it gave me a chance to regroup.
I made it to the next aid station where I popped a Coke, refilled my bottle, and cruised out of there. The rest of the competition had all come back together and we all began to negotiate the tricky slick rock descents down into another canyon. At one point, I lost track of the orange flags marking the course and I noticed myself perched on a wall with no way down. I was clearly off course, so I carefully backtracked a few yards to reconnect, letting a couple racers pass - damn. After a few miles of travel on moon-like surfaces, I hung a right onto Jackson Trail - 18 or so miles into the race. I was by myself after a while, but I noticed someone coming up on me wicked fast. I tucked in behind this fellow and we descended into Kane Creek at a feverish pace. Seeing the finish off in the distance, we made quick work of this singletrack clinging to the side of a steep mesa wall. Again, this was another opportunity to take a pretty sizable plummet to the river far below.
I emerged at the parking lot where this fiasco had begun 3 hours and 30 minutes prior and I hurried to the check point to turn around and head back out for the last section of the race. I admittedly didn't review the map closely before running this race, so I had no idea there was another 5 mile section to this race. I should have known because my time was far too fast for a marathon on this type of course. Anyway, had I not gunned it so hard down Jackson, I wouldn't be in the state of mind that I was in - angry and drained. I headed back out and this is where the wheels fell off.
After trampling through yet another muddy section I entered the last aid station where I sucked down another GU, drank a Coke, filled the bottle, and proceeded onward. I slowly and begrudgingly entered the rope section. I will say that had I not just ran 22 miles, I would have really enjoyed this section, but because this wasn't the case, I was pissed about the prospect. Managing to make somewhat quick work climbing the rocks, I motored on. As I ascended the last of the hills before a punch check, I noticed my current standing was no longer fourth or fifth. I managed to let a few more people go at the last aid station, so now I was hanging on to ninth place.
I made my way back to the finishing area and crossed the line with a time of 4:15 and a 9th place finish. Not too shab.
That evening, I cozied my salty, greasy ass up into my sleeping bag and fell asleep under a clear sky and a bright moon. Another great Moab adventure.
The mighty La Sals in the backdrop of Canyonlands
The White Rim down in the Canyonlands
Our campsite for the weekend. Not my first choice as it had amenities, but it sufficed.
Some muddy mt101s. Very aromatic.
I watched the last few reach the finish line
Make note of the dog with the down jacket
